Mash, the cook, gave vent to a fresh shower of tears at this encouraging remark, and made Miss Philomela shrug her shoulders in disgust.
"Oh! don't be silly. Mash!" said Miss Philomela, losing all patience with the cook.
"I--I--boo-boo-hoo!--can't help it, marm."
"Nonsense!" said the superior female. "As for you, Marcus, you should not encourage such folly, when you have troubles that demand our sober and earnest attention. With reference to the past, I might say a great many things, but I forbear. To be serious, now--for once in your life--what can I do for you?"
"Will you do what I ask, faithfully?" asked Marcus.
"Yes, faithfully. I promise."
"Then, my sister, be so good as to go home immediately, and send me a spare shirt and a change of clothes. Mash can bring them. And, lest another interview should prove too severe a trial for your female sensibility, I beg that you will not come here again. If I want you very much, I can send for you."
"You are very unkind--very unkind. But I will not make any remarks. You know that nothing would give me greater pleasure than to serve my brother. For, though you have faults--I suppose you will not deny that you have some little faults--you are still my brother."
Marcus smiled, and thought how foolish it was to quarrel with the whimsical but not bad-hearted woman. "Well, sister Philomela, you can see for yourself that I am not ill used here. Comfortable bed, rousing fire, and warm meals from the restaurant round the corner! The lieutenant[1] who is in command of this station house turns out to be an old friend of my boyhood, and treats me more like a guest than a prisoner. And I must say, that, but for the idea of a prison, I could live as pleasantly here as at home. Even you can do nothing to lighten my captivity. But I promise, that if I am held by this coroner's jury--which, of course, I shall not be--and am sent to the Tombs, then I will tax your sisterly affection to the utmost."
[1] Called sergeant of police under the recent Metropolitan Act.